Fuck 'em and Fuck You Too
by Cyanide Lemons
Summary: Harry Potter goes back in time. Harry Potter goes back in time. Harry Potter goes back in time x20. All Harry Potters who go back in time end up in the same place.
1. Chapter 1

AN/ Crack. That's it.

—

There's four of them. Probably more, really, but there's four of them right now, standing in front of the Dursley's house. It's the middle of the night, and they catch themselves in the shadows almost by accident.

That all four of them arrived at the same time, at the same place, is nothing short of miraculous. The fact that they recognise who they are even more so, and a good thing too, since there's no doubt blood would have been shed otherwise.

The tallest of them looks halfway dead, all long limbs and pale skin. His hair is long and pulled back in a messy tail at the base of his neck, creating a stark contrast against his bright, too bright, green eyes.

A shimmery cloak is slung over one black clad shoulder, looking like it's made of stardust.

He stares at his companions with an even, dead eye, emotionless. There's no movement to him, and it makes it almost hard to look at him. He looks like a statue, or a corpse. He doesn't have a shadow.

"Well I know you ain't from my timeline," the second one says, eyes narrowed up at the tall man.

This one looks a little less unusual, short and skinny and with messy hair flying everywhere. He has brown eyes you wouldn't know are contacts and black fingerless gloves with decorative symbols on them. Tattoos wind up his arms, disappearing into what looks like a band shirt.

The first man hums.

"I do not think any of us are from the same timeline, no," he agrees, before turning to the others.

The third man is older than all of them, with a scarred face and a twisted scowl on his face. He wears combat gear of some sort, not quite muggle and not quite wizardly. His hair is peppered with silver at the temples of his short hair, and it is practically the only bright bit about him.

"Tch, this is ridiculous," he growls, crossing his arms.

"I'm actually more surprised that there's not more of us, really," the last man says. He's the second tallest, and seems to be standing in a perpetual slouch. He's wearing clothing that's normal enough, if you look at it sideways. Something about the cut of the cloth screams fantasy novel. Green scales creep up his neck and hands.

"Raise your hand if you travelled on purpose," the first man says, after an awkward silence descends on them. A snort from the fourth one is his answer, as the two others look at him incredulously.

"I was sentenced to the veil for my, ah, illustrious fate after the war," the fourth man says, when it becomes obvious the other two won't speak up.

"The veil? It's not even connected to the timestream," the third one says in derision.

"Bastards, they just threw you in, right? Mine were such shits after I kicked Voldi's ass, I ended up having to run to Japan to find any peace," the second one says.

All of them look at him.

"Japan, truly? Do you even know Japanese?" The fourth one asks curiously. The second one huffs.

"Translation charms, of course."

The third one scoffs, and uncrosses his arms. He glares at all of them for a second before a minute smile kicks up the corners of his mouth.

"Let me guess, everyone else tried to come back and change things," he says wryly. The group shuffles guiltily, except the first man.

"Well, we might as well do what we came here to do," he says instead, in thought, turning back to the house.

"Really? And how do any of us know what 'we' were going to do? I could be here to kill 'em" the second one says. The first man ignores him and stalks towards the front door.

"Oh come on, as if any of us were here for any other reason than to save me—him—us, ugh, that's confusing," the fourth says, as he walks pass him.

As the first one waves a hand to the door, opening it silently, the two remain men stare at each other for a few seconds.

"What'cha name?" the second one says finally, and the third raises a brow, "No, I know, we all have the same birth name, but don't tell me you never got a pseudonym in all that time. It took me less than three months on the streets to get mine."

The man hesitates a second before signing.

"They called me Boss, mostly," he says reluctantly, ignoring the giggles that erupts at his answer.

"Well, nice ta meet'cha. I go by Viper," the other man says through his laughter. He moves to join the two others already in the house, flicking a hand so that a dark stick slips into it.

The third one, Boss, stays outside. One eye on the house and one eye on the street, on guard for the various meddlesome people that might exist in this world. He doesn't know if there's any wards or alarms attached to the house, or that they would trip one of those anyways considering who they are. Still, vigilance is key.

After a few minutes of silence from the house, the first man appears again, holding a sleeping child in his thin arms.

"Viper and Zephirus are taking care of the family," he says, joining Boss in the shadows of the house.

"Zephirus?" Boss asks, not looking away from his vigile.

"It means west wind, I gather our scaled friend is a fan of flying," the man says, shifting his burden a little. The small child makes a sleepy noise and burrows closer to his chest.

"And you? What sort of odd ass name did you pick?" Boss crosses his arms and tenses a little, as he feels the swell of magic from the house that indicates a memory wipe.

"I went by Evans for quite a few years when I was younger, but I mostly lived my life after the war nameless. Much easier to escape the people after you," Evans says in thought.

Finally the magic in the house fades, and soft footsteps are heard as the other two join them outside. The youngest of them, Viper, looks a little disappointed. He's being dragged down the steps by Zephirus.

"This guy here has no sense of subtlety, wanted to kill them in their sleep," he complains as they get closer, dragging the other.

"A little death never hurt anyone," Viper complains, finally wrenching his arm out of the other man's hands, "besides, the world doesn't need anymore Dursleys now does it?"

"Someone would come to investigate, and that's the last thing we need," Zephirus snaps, eyes flashing. The two glare at each other before a noise from the still sleeping child startles all of them.

"Perhaps we should leave now, before anyone looks out their window and sees us. I had prepared an apartment in London, unless anyone else has a plan?" Evans asks the group.

The three others shake their heads.

"You will have to grab hold of me as I apparate, then," he says, jiggling his burden emphatically.

In the morning, the only evidence that Harry Potter ever lived at Number 4, Privet Drive, was a crumpled-up letter in the trash. It wouldn't be found, and without any memories of the child, the Dursleys would go on to live their lives completely blissfully unaware of their nephew until the time came for his eleventh birthday, and a large man appeared with a birthday cake.

In the meantime, a group of temporally-displaced identical individuals try and raise themselves to be the best possible version of themselves.

Considering one of them is a half-dead Master of Death, one a cynical and paranoid veteran, one a half-snake hybrid, and the other a streetwise teenager, well.

Let's just say that they all had different ideas on what constitutes a happy and secure lifestyle.

Harry Potter, the baby that is, at least seems happy with his four new fathers. Or brothers. Or uncles. No one in the neighbourhood is all that sure. They seem like they might be related, but they all deny it when asked.

"Your family is weird," Danny Smitherson tells Harry, watching the four argue over proper picnic materials. The two boys are sitting on the swings in the local park, waiting for the parent-teacher picnic to start. Already Harry's guardians are getting odd looks from the gathering parents.

"I know," he says sadly, idly kicking his feet. He's become immune throughout the years to his guardians' weirdness, but that doesn't mean he likes it. Sometimes he feels like the only sensible person in the house, and he's only nine.

Of all his guardians, the only one who tends towards sensibility is Evans, who instead of brewing chaos wherever he walks likes to watch others do it for him. So really he's only somewhat sensible. Harry sighs.

"So like. Who's your real dad out of them?" Danny continues thoughtfully, digging his toes into the sand to spin the swing around.

"Eh, none of them really. Or all of them? Zephirus says they're like my cousins who got custody after my parents died but you know—" He stops to look consideringly at his friend. Danny obligingly moves closer and looks at him seriously.

"I think they might be clones. Alien clones. Or like spies from M16. Sometimes I get home and Boss will be complaining to the others about security and stuff. And about how they need to stay under the radar from the 'authorities'."

"Wow." Danny blinks. f"Does that make you, like, an alien experiment?"

Harry nods seriously. He can't mention the magic, or else he'll get in trouble and they might need to move again, but no one said anything about talking about his suspicions. He's been thinking about this a lot, after a few too many nights staying up past his bedtime with pulp novels and science fiction books. The library doesn't really have a whole lot of reading material for his age, so he's had to learn quickly to be able to enjoy the bounty of knowledge resting on the large shelves. Which means sometimes he's not sure if he's reading a textbook on the actual relativity of black holes, or whether it's a hypothetical treatise disguised with big breasted blue woman and space battles.

Considering the tastes of his guardians, sometimes it's both at the same time.

"Cool," Danny whispers, eyes wide but expression neutral. Both boys gravitated towards each other because of their horrible social skills and inability to stay blended in a crowd. For Danny this was because he was both 'too mature for his age' and 'had a darker humour than the night sky'.

For Harry it was mostly because of his guardians, and the rumours that abound the neighbourhood because of them. Harry himself is like a blend of them, combined in a child still filled with wonder and imagination. So really a horrible combination.

Both boys really are lucky they found each other.

"Kids! Come on over now, we're starting!" The voice of their languages teacher cuts through the park, his crooked glasses sliding down his nose and making him appear like a caricature out of a cartoon. Harry and Danny jump off the swings and join the rest of the class in shuffling in the vague direction of the teachers. A few of them get waylaid by parents and family members, and as the two boys pass Harry's family they make sure not to make eye contact.

Who knows if the aliens have mind reading powers after all, and just last night they had planned a super special adventure. The last thing they want is for the adults to catch wind of it and stop it before it starts.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in a haze of activities and food and one of Harry's guardians trying to punch out a fellow parent in some sort of boredom-induced rage, but all in all, not a bad day at all.

It's a lot better than last year, at least, where Boss thought the mini sparklers where bombs.

—

It's the brat's ninth birthday, and Viper blinks at his computer screen in apparent shock that it's been eight years since they all went back in time to save their baby selves. Self. Whatever.

Eight years. Eight years in first a posh apartment with marble counters, and then a small house (also with marble counters). Eight years of children's toys and story times and freaking out because the brat used accidental magic to disappear into the attic again. He has to pause to really think about it.

He hasn't done a real heist in those eight years, has only been somewhat able to corrupt his younger self with lessons in lockpicking, and somehow he's neither killed nor been killed by his compatriots. They are all iterations of the same person after all, and fuck knows all of them are a handful to deal with.

He narrows his eyes in thought and continues the monotonous grind of out-bidding the jackass trying to buy the retrofitted arcade cabinet he's been keeping on eye on. He's not sure if he's actually going to end up buying it, despite the high prices, or if he wants to hike the price up even higher and then back down so the jerk on the other end has to cough up the cash.

Choices, choices.

He watches the timer wind down as he ponders on the kid. It's been...tolerable with the others, and at least with help he can shove responsibility onto someone else's shoulders when the pressure becomes too much. And it's nice being able to come back everyday to an actual house, with a stocked pantry and no rats in the walls. Even better, there's no running from wizards trying to drag him into something he doesn't want to do, or other people jockeying for his territory.

So he's pretty ok with his lot in life right now, even if it does come with a nine year old brat who really is just a mix of their worst selves. The whimsicality of Zephirus combined with the disregard for authority of himself, the suspicion of Boss and the plain oddity of Evans.

He sighs. He supposes the brat isn't that bad. He has some of their good points too, and as much as it is difficult to escape the comparisons between all of them, he's different too. Soft where most of them are hard, curious where they are not, practical where magic has worn that away from them. This Harry, he thinks with no small bit of pride, would not go back in time on a whim to raise a younger version of himself. Which is probably a good thing, one child was enough for them, he doesn't even want to think about grandchildren.

Which brings him back to his worries: the kid will be starting Hogwarts in a few years. Will be exposed to the weirdness and wonder and dangers of the magical world. A part of him wants to bundle him up and take him far away, already too bitter to consider that anything but a bad thing. The kid wants to go, though, has already been charmed by the stories of hidden passages and animated suits of armour.

And the unending potential for chaos.

There's the sound of shifting fabric and he sighs.

"I can hear you, you know. "

A woman with amber hair and eyes smirks at him from over his shoulder. Hyacinth Potter is beautiful in a disheveled way, hair shorn short and lips painted a cracked red. She's also, he thinks with no amount of annoyance, not supposed to be in their neck of the woods at all.

"What, I can't come to see my favourite little brother on his birthday?" She drawls, snagging a chair and rolling it up to the desk.

Viper doesn't know why this one universe attracts so many Potter iterations, but he's sure there has to be at least twenty of them at this point. This is only one of them. So far only the original four stick around with the little mini-me, but the others pop up randomly to crash on couches and be bad influences.

"The only time you show up if when you get in trouble with the Knockturn Alley creeps and want a place to lay low for a bit," he complains, but turns from his computer anyways to face her head-on. She's dangerous, after all. They all are.

"I can do both at the same time," she says, waving him off before pausing, "how old is he now anyways? Seven? Eight?"

"Nine." Viper tries to keep his expression neutral, but the truth is he doesn't really like any of the other Potter iterations. Oh, he doesn't mind some of them, and he will fight for them and help them out when it's convenient. But looking into a warped mirror only highlights the things he hates about himself, and they are all just mirrors reflecting each other.

"Hmm, what do you think, is nine old enough to learn black magic?" Hyacinth's expression in teasing, but he knows if he lets her alone with the brat she'll do it anyways.

"No."

"Pity. Oh well, I suppose a pet isn't too far off anyways. You're not allergic to birds are you?" She doesn't wait for an answer before snagging her cloak and dramatical spinning around, throwing it over her shoulder.

"Be seeing you, Viper!" she calls as she disappears out of sight.

He sighs, and then groans when he sees the bidding timer has counted down and he's lost the auction. Someday he's going to have to see about making a lock on his door that can withstand even the strongest unlocking charm. This is the third time this month he's lost a bid because of interruptions.

—

Evans is not quite human. Hasn't been for a real long time, to be honest. He wasn't quick enough in getting rid of the Deathly Hallows, and it shows. After a few years with the ghostly whispers of everything even slightly supernatural whispering in his ears, losing his humanity wasn't so much of a choice as it was fate.

He's mostly made his peace with the whole affair, even if it does make certain things difficult.

He watches his younger self vibrate in place at the table, excitement practically visible in the air, and smiles. It took twelve reminders to remember today was the child's birthday, and although he no longer has any use for them himself he enjoys living vicariously through the others.

Right now, however, the joy of the situation is diffused by the strings of fate he can see tangling in and out of Harry's soul. The taint of Voldemort, recently strengthened, the hands of prophecy, the expectations of a thousand people close and far. It turns the bright soul into a murky soup of outside influences, and it has only become worse as the years have passed by.

He figures it's about time he's done something about it.

"Child," he starts, pondering, and mostly ignoring the expectant eyes swinging his way. The others are already used to him changing the flow of their lives with a few simple words, and he in return has become used to the way they let him.

"Child, I have a gift for you," he continues.

Harry beams at him, and futilely tries to stop his squirming. He in turn has learnt how his gifts are usually out of the ordinary, and more importantly that they are never really as they appear. Evans can't help but think sometimes that he has become more and more like a thing of legends as the years have passed, taking up language and rules more suited towards folklore. The workings of magic, no doubt.

"You already know of the parasite in your soul, the broken off piece of Voldemort that has taken refuge. We've refrained from banishing it since the consequences would be great when you were younger. But you are older now, and more importantly, soon to be out of our reach."

From his side he can feel Boss' suspicion, a feeling that rises almost physical from the compact form and lingers in the back of the others' throats.

"You planning something?" The gruff voice does nothing to hide the rising violence. No doubt the man is remembering his own removal of the soul shard; the agony of death, the peace, and then the renewal of pain from reawakening. Evan hides his smile.

"There are perks to my powers, that I think would be prudent to use now," he simply agrees.

"Will I still be able to talk to snakes?" Harry asks, reluctantly. The child has grown attached to a few garden snakes out back, as well as Zephirus' multiple friends. The loss of such a skill would no doubt be a disappointment.

"All things must be equal. You will be losing something rather substantial, as even the smallest soul shard has great cosmic weight. It would not be out of bounds to simply...add something in it's place. Hence a gift."

"You mean the removal isn't the gift," Zephirus jumps in, thoughtfully. Evans inclines his head.

"A boon. It will not be quite as you are used to, not quite parseltongue as you know it. But it will let you communicate with serpents, and probably the greater serpents as well."

Harry quirks his head, a mannerism he's gotten from Evans more likely, and nods slowly.

"It would be nice not to worry about possession," he admits, and then smiles brightly. "Your gifts are always the most interesting, so I'm sure whatever you replace the parseltongue with will be too."

"Not sure if interesting is anything good," Boss grumbles, but none of them argue against it. It does need doing after all, if they want to have any chance of destroying Voldemort. Hopefully before he starts a war against the world.

—

The ritual is only a ritual in the vaguest of senses. They don't strictly need it, but sometimes the illusion of grandeur will make something so, and none of them want to screw something like this up.

Zephirus leans against the wall of the basement they're doing it in, dragonhide armour neatly tugged over clothing stained by potions and magical residue. He wasn't anticipating what's going to end up as major magical surgery this early in the afternoon, but he probably should have. Someday he will learn to anticipate the craziness that likes to invade their lives.

"You ready, kid?" Viper asks, brushing his pants off above the chalk circle they've just spent the past hour making. Harry nods vigorously, and Zephirus hides a smile in his palm at the sight. The scales on his hands tickle the skin.

"Yes!"

"Then we shall begin," Evans says from his position at the head of the circle. Viper steps back as the kid steps forward, and Zephirus can feel Boss tense besides him. The three of them are on damage control, since the magic knockback has the potential to be great, but he knows out of them all it's Boss who's the most likely to spot something amiss.

"I still think this is a stupid idea," the man complains, and he shrugs. Maybe, but it's a necessity. Just like Hogwarts is a necessity, and gathering the horcruxes, and trying to stay under the radar during all of this.

There's a lot they have to do that's going to be a bad idea. It's a good thing they've had such practice at it, that bad ideas are practically the definition of Harry Potters throughout the ages and dimensions.

"Step into the circle, child, and remember: keep on the path."

—


	2. Chapter 2

Harry walks through a mist filled forest and tries not to let the shadows creep him out. The trees are bent in eerie shapes, and the dirt path under his feet seems to go on forever. There's no sound besides that of his breathing.

It's very cliche.

An owl watches him pass by and he waves at it. He has a feeling it's going to be a long night.

—

The boy wakes up, parasite-free and groggy with it. Zephirus doesn't quite heave of a sigh of relief, but he does relax further into the stone of the basement. At his side Boss twitches, hand still hovering over his hip holster.

Zeph rolls his eyes.

"Well that was exciting," Viper says sarcastically, dusting off his knees and already turned towards the door. No one comments on his relieved expression.

"Good job, Harry," Zeph says with a smile. He straightens a little and elbows Boss who's still twitching towards his guns while the boy is distracted with being hugged by Evans. The older man grunts but relaxes a little, enough that Zeph feels comfortable enough to wander towards where Harry and Evans are talking quietly.

"—And there was a giant floating tree with eight eyes, and it totally winked at me. Like five times." He hears Harry babble as he gets closer.

He shares an amused glance with Evans and swings an arm around the boy, ignoring his yelp.

"Sounds like an adventure, and you'll have to tell us all about it. Maybe over lunch, eh?"

He gets an enthusiastic nod, echoed more subtly by Evans. They pass Boss on their way up to stairs, but he just waves them on and scuffs the chalk ring a little more. No doubt he'll take care of the mess, and make sure no one tries to use the residual magic as a portal to another dimension or something.

None of them wants a repeat of last Christmas.

—

They all use magic to differing degrees in the house, and to differing masteries. Viper is surprisingly good at domestic charms, due in part to the fact that he's had to live in some pretty disgusting places and he's had to adapt his surroundings on the fly. He's the strongest at transfiguration because of that too.

Boss is all about offensive and defensive magic. Dark, light, grey, it doesn't matter. He's forgotten most non-combative magic, and those that he still uses he ends up incorporating into his fighting anyways. The summoning charm is lethal when he wants it to be, and he's told stories of summoning things like bones and blood before. Put enough power into any spell and the things you can do end up sounding like something from a horror story.

Evans is all about rituals. Not always those that require chalk or candles either. The kind that come about from certain phases of the moon, or that take years and thousands of coincidences. He was created by ritual after all, and it carries into his life in odd and nauseating ways. He rarely touches mortal magic at this point, and the things he does always end up being more mythical than practical.

And then there's Zephirus. Inheriting creature blood at seventeen, he has a talent for magic steeped in languages. Parseltongue, mermish, faerytongue. That kind of magic is geared towards things that last: wards and curses and enchantments. He's the one that took care of the defences in their house, making it unplottable and invisible to magical eyes.

Harry, the little magic he's learned so far, seems to gravitate towards charms. Faery lights, flying origami, colour-changing ink. Things that the others have grown out of, or no longer think amazing when compared to things like dark curses and human transfiguration. He's innocent still, and it shows.

After stuffing himself full with a cake whose candles sparkled with little stars, the kind of gifts he receives reflect that.

Lighthearted books, enchanted toys, accessories that double as protective gear and neat prank items. A giant hawk from one of his aunts.

"Whoa." His eyes are round enough they look to be the size of his glasses, and he can't keep himself from reaching out and petting the soft feathers around the crest of the bird.

The hawk accepts the attention for a few seconds before nipping at his fingers.

"Feisty," Boss says with squinted eyes. He doesn't trust any of the aunts or uncles, some days doesn't even trust the three others he lives with. Hyacinth in particular he never trusts to have anything but mischief in mind, and when you're talking about a woman who practically breathes black magic, mischief could mean anything from lighthearted pranks to turning your lungs inside out.

"I'm going to name her Echidna," Harry says while nursing his bleeding fingers.

"A lovely name, for a lovely lady," Evans agrees.

Viper glances at Zeph and raises an eyebrow.

"Isn't that like, a snake monster?" he whispers in mock disbelief.

"Yes, the mother of monsters," Zephirus whispers back, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"This might be an issue when it comes time for Hogwarts, however," he says in a normal tone of voice, interrupting Harry and Evans' gushing, "since you already have a pet. Although I do not know if they would let you bring Cerastes anyways, since he is a snake and therefore not on the list."

Harry frowns.

"But I promised I would bring him! He's going to be so bored if he has to stay with your brood, no offence."

Zeph shrugs and accepts that as truth. None of his snakes are anything like tame, considering he has some of the most poisonous magical species in his collection. But none of them are Cerastes, who was born from a fit of accidental magic on Harry's part and is practically a part of his soul.

"We'll figure it out," Evans promises. On the other side of the table Boss grunts and nudges a package closer to the centre.

Harry takes the distraction and grabs it with a smile. It's wrapped in brown paper and taped together with the novelty frog tape. He blinks at the little amphibians and beams at the man.

"Thanks!" he chirps. Boss shrugs and leans back, looking away.

The brown paper opens up into a pair of leather gloves, soft brown with black stitching. There's small runes embedded into the seams, and as he lifts them out of their packaging he can see that they glow a little too.

"Zephirus enchanted them," Boss grunts out, flipping a silver-plated zippo open and closed.

"Boss designed the defences though, so it's more of his gift really," Zeph waves off, smiling at the other man's discomfort.

"Cool! What's it do?" Harry excitedly tugs on the gloves, watching as they shrink to fit him perfectly.

"Got your basic warning spell for ill intent, a barrier spell that should deal with most low power curses, a wand summoning charm linked to yours truly and—"

There's a whoosh and a flare of light, to which Boss throws up a shield just in time to keep them from losing their eyebrows. The gloves glow merrily with a small flame cradled in between. It's small enough despite the initial explosion that you can barely see it past Harry's fingers.

"—That," Boss finishes.

A slow smile creeps it's way up Harry's face.

"Awesome!"

—

Harry's ninth and tenth year progresses as all the others, with chaotic family shenanigans and youthful adventures. He plans and plots with his best friend (who, despite being a muggle and ignorant of magic, is still able to come up with some rather magical ideas) and spends his evenings learning all he could ever want about magic.

Together they discover a small hidden grove out by the school, hidden from sight by large oak trees and practically undisturbed by the heavy traffic right outside it. Harry secretly thinks there's probably some sort of magic ward surrounding it, but otherwise it appears to be normal. There's a small creek and in the summer they spend hours trying to catch frogs and tadpoles. There's one downturned tree in particular that they claim for themselves, hollow and the perfect size for the foundation of a secret base.

They plan most of their adventures there.

A steady stream of people wander in and out of his house, 'aunts' and 'uncles' and their friends, ruffling his hair and teaching him random skills that fall into 'useless' more often than not. How to cook pumpkin-fowl pie, thirteen ways to use rat skin in potion making, five new prank spells, leather-making, and enchanted sewing.

He would wonder at all the weird things his relatives know how to do, but he lives with four of the weirdest so it doesn't really faze him. Sometimes he wishes they could teach him things that have actual practical uses, like something to do his homework faster or a charm to keep his candy hidden from Zephirus and his sweet tooth, but he's grateful for any attention they give him anyway. Despite all the family he is constantly surrounded with, he never tires of the way they unconditionally give it to him.

A few, usually those older ones with soft eyes and scarred faces will sit with him and tell him stories. He know's they never say the whole truth of their adventures, and more often than not the stories fall into 'cautionary tale' instead of 'exciting', but still. It's nice.

Hyacinth comes by every once and awhile to bug Viper and give Harry questionable gifts, but they've all learned to deal with the woman so it never brings about any real trouble. Sometimes Boss will go out with her to take care of some trouble she's stirred up but otherwise very little is done about her.

Harry secretly adores her.

Boss, every few months, will pull Harry down to the basement and gently guide him through some new defense move. A lot of time it has very little to do with magic, dodging or rolls or takedowns, and he can't help but think it has more to do with Boss' peace of mind than actual defense practice. He notices the man sleeps better the days afterwards.

Echidna grows even larger and more cantankerous. Zephirus confirms their suspicion that she's a magical breed when he finds her chewing on their fireplace's leftover ashes. He's not sure of her breed since reptiles are more of his thing, but they've determined that so far the only differences are her size and the way she can consume anything fire-related.

Cerastes on the other hand grows very little, and takes to curling around Harry's neck like a living necklace.

School progresses as usual, and his marks fall somewhere in between 'great' and 'incomprehensible'. His English teacher in particular hates him, mostly because his creative writing assignments are a reflection of his life and therefore quite nonsensical. He's never going to be popular, but he's friendly with his class and he only really needs the one friend.

And with the soul shard gone he's dreams have been clearer, more restful. He's not sure how much is actually to do with it's absence and how much it is to do with no longer having the looming threat of possession hanging over him.

Evans sits down with him and recounts story after story for him, of magic and gods and heroes. Myths and legends and the things that are half-superstition, half-history. The others shake their heads and Viper half-heatedly complains that Harry's going to end up a Ravenclaw, but they don't do anything to stop him either.

Instead Viper simply takes him aside and teaches him more on how if he does end up adventuring, especially in Hogwarts, how to get away with it. Locks and disguises and sleight of hand. He gets drunk once and crows to Hyacinth that he's making a real good thief out of the boy.

And as usual, in between adventures and mishaps and family drama in all shapes, he grows. Grows up and grows into himself. Magic and family and loyalty and all the things he would have missed had four strange men not rescued him off of a cold house step.

And then he's eleven, and a letter comes.

—

Harry wakes up on July 31st and bounces out of bed, tripping on a discarded shirt as he goes about getting dressed. The faery lights that decorate his room brighten at his excitement, casting shadows of his many posters and pictures. Most of the posters are science-fiction based, or else joke fantasy posters. He particularly likes the one with the unicorn painted in soft acrylic Viper got out of a thrift store.

He skids out the door and runs down the stairs, stepping lightly on the various trick stairs and defense enchantments worked into the wood. Echidna floats slowly down and lands on his shoulder halfway down, her talons digging into his skin just hard enough for him to wince.

He hits the bottom of the landing and shuffles a little slower into the kitchen. There's already tea waiting on the counter and he gratefully grabs his mug before taking a seat at the table. A pan full of eggs is cooking slowly on the stove, being tended by a pair of floating forks, and he can hear just through the door the voices of Viper and Evans.

Echidna flies over to her perch and starts destroying a small stack of indistinguishable meat, part of which is smoking.

"—I'm just saying, Boss is already anxious about the security. You and me both know how false the illusion of Hogwarts safety is."

"I don't disagree, I just don't think bringing more weapons into an already volatile situation is the best of decisions."

The two round the door and Harry sees for the first time that they're carrying colourful bags. Harry tries not to look to excited, and beams at them with a suitable amount of joy.

"Well look who's awake before twelve. Must be a special day, huh," Viper drawls, and disposes of his bags on the table before shuffling over to the oven.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Evans says with a smile, ruffling his hair as he passes, bags already mysterious gone, "let me go see about waking up Zephirus so we can get the tedious things done before your celebration."

"Where's Boss?" Harry asks, attention diverted to the plate Viper sets down in front of him, cup of tea in the other hand. There's a pencil behind the man's ear and a smudge of dark under his eyes, but his expression is cheerful.

"Out making sure the trip to the alley is going to stay inconspicuous," Viper says around a mouthful of toast.

"M'kay."

Not much more is said, and Harry soon finishes both his tea and eggs, the excitement from his birthday fading enough so he feels the sleepiness of the morning.

Evans wanders back in as he debates the merits of a nap, Zephirus trailing behind him with a yawn.

"Good morning birthday boy," he says, a flash of sharp teeth as another yawn interrupts the rest of his sentence.

"'Morning!" Harry perks up a little. He tries not to have favourites with his guardians, but he and Zeph tend to spend more time together simply because of their hobbies.

"Just in time too," Viper comments idly, watching as the windows flash with the warning sign of an incoming owl. Evans waves his hand and the latch opens just as said owl flies up, sweeping through the window and landing neatly in front of Harry.

Viper nonchalantly stops Echidna from attacking in a fit of rage and watches in amusement as even Cerastes rears up in alarm, hissing frantically.

Harry on the other hand practically vibrates in excitement, and eagerly accepts the thrust out letter with shaking hands. He remembers to feed the owl a little bit of egg at least, which shows he still has the manners Echidna has literally clawed into him.

"Mr. Harry J. Potter

The Fourth Bedroom

45th Ave

The Hidden House

London"

"The Hidden House, really?" Harry asks, looking up at Evans as he reads over his shoulder.

"Technically the house is inhabiting its own dimension, and it is enchanted against detection. We only relaxed the wards so the letter could find you. Not to mention magic is horrible at naming things."

"True," Harry and Viper say almost in unison.

"Well now that you are officially invited to Hogwarts, shall we depart? You can open presents later, maybe when the excitement of the alley has faded?" Zephirus asks, already rising. Harry nods energetically, tucking the letter into his pocket. It fits, along with a packet of gum, his wallet, his keys, a black notebook, many pens, some string, and a few owl treats.

Expanded pockets are probably the best magical invention.

Getting all of them out the door at the same time is something of a production, only made faster by the exclusion of Boss. Harry tugs on his enchanted gloves, his disguise glasses (charmed to make him unnoticed as the Boy-Who-Lived) and his Fleet-Of-Foot shoes, and waits impatiently as the others set about first re-awakening the wards, tugging on coats and jackets and boots, and then dithering about together on whether they should wait for Boss to come back or just meet him at the station.

"Oh come on, you know if we wait for him he'll find a mugger to beat up or a Death Eater to catch. Let's goooooo," Harry finally cries, nudging his guardians out the door. Zephirus laughs, and ruffles his hair again on his way out.

They laugh at his disgruntled expression.

—

Boss melts out of the shadows once they make their way to the station, a shifty look in his eyes and a hand inching towards his gun. Viper rolls his eyes and elbows him in the side.

"All clear?" Evans asks quietly, hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him from running ahead. They're only a few stops away from the Leaky Cauldron and therefore the wizarding world, and the boy's excitement has only grown.

Boss nods, and relaxes only slightly. He follows the rest of them into the crowded train and glares at anyone that gets too close.

They make a strange image, the five of them. All dark haired and similar featured, though they've added a few glamours to make traversing undetected easier. Zephirus' scales are usually hidden of course, but on top of Viper and his contacts, they make sure there's nothing that the wizarding world will recognise as belonging to the Boy-Who-Lived. It helps that they are all different ages, Boss with more grey than black in his hair, Viper not looking a day over twenty.

Evans hums softly as the train starts, a placid look in his eyes, and ignores the lady next to him glaring at the way his long body takes up space. Even hunched in as he is his legs reach into the aisle.

"What do you want to get first, hmm?" Zephirus asks Harry, nudging him away from where his fidgeting is threatening to hit the person next to him.

"Books!" Harry whispers back. His hand is fiddling with his pocket, no doubt running his fingers through the wand they already got him last year. There's no reason to have to deal with Ollivander's weirdest for a wand that only gives limited protection against its brothers when you can enchant much better protection items instead.

"Really? But the library at home has anything you could want," Viper interjects, leaning over Zephirus to do so.

"Uhuh, but you guys refuse to buy any of the Boy-Who-Lived propaganda and I need something to laugh at during the train ride." Harry thinks this a perfectly reasonable explanation, and ignores his guardians' eye rolls.

The rest of the trip passes uneventfully.

—

Ceraste's a warm weight around his neck and with his guardians surrounding him protectively, Harry walks through the Leaky Cauldron and into the wizarding world without fanfare. They pass a man in a turban who looks rather shifty and makes Boss growl, but the others push the soldier away and they are able to enter the alley with no blood shed.

Harry isn't quite sure what he was expecting from Diagon Alley, having been raised on stories of its streets and businesses. It doesn't quite compare to his imagination however. Somehow he figured it would be brighter, more exotic—less stereotypical.

"I know, outdated isn't it," Viper mutters to him, eyes on a man with a green and yellow pulsating robe, giant hat to match.

Harry hums thoughtfully and pulls his attention away from the people. At least then he can see the magic of the place, worn brick plastered with moving posters, flying enchanted items flittering about shops, stone that makes a bright, tinkly sound when walked on. In the shadows he can see contented cats watching with bright eyes, owls swooping overhead carrying letters and packages, glittering ornaments strung up simply with magic.

It practically glows.

"We have money we withdrew from the family vault, but you should also have an account set up by your parents at Gringotts. Unfortunately we don't have the key, and getting another one will be a hassle and compromise security. I suggest waiting till the end of the trip to attempt it," Boss says as they move through the crowds, tense and with eyes flittering about.

"If you don't want to deal with it today, we can also just give you some for the school year and we can handle it later," Evans adds, looking thoughtful, "actually you could not even address it at all, leave that part of Harry Potter unearthed and forgotten. It's just money after all, and all the true family heirlooms are in the hands of family friends or else still at Godric's Hollow."

Harry shakes his head.

"That would just raise suspicions wouldn't?" he asks, looking towards Boss for confirmation.

The man nods.

"In that case, let us continue with the shopping and we deal with your finances later," Evans says with a smile.

Their first stop is the apothecary, since Zephirus needs to restock some of their ingredients and it's close to the luggage shop. Harry already has an expandible chest, but it's about time for an upgrade and Viper has been muttering about locking charms and lock picks all morning.

The apothecary is weird smelling, and filled to the brim with things better seen in a horror movie. Harry takes it in relative stride, familiar with a few of the ingredients already, and inspects those new to him with interest.

"What's this for?" he asks Viper in a whisper as Zephirus haggles with the shopkeeper, pointing to a jar filled with fluttering wings connected to nothing.

"Pike wings, pretty sure they got something to do with air. Floating," Viper responds, looking at the shelves with boredom. Potions isn't his specialty and he has no love for the art, but he knows the basics. They all do, mostly.

"Cool," Harry breathes, attention already caught by another oddity.

They leave soon after, purchases shrunk into small pouches, colour coded for who they were bought for. Blue for Harry's school supplies and a pale yellow for Zephirus' experiments.

The shopkeeper gives them an odd look as they leave, which Boss returns with a steely glare. It might have to do with how Zephirus dropped his glamours as soon as they entered, and his scales catch the light in pretty and interesting ways. Or maybe it's the way Evans' shadow keeps shifting, antlers appearing for the blink of an eye, shimmering coat trail disappearing into a constellation of shifting stars.

Or maybe it's Boss' dragonhide armour, black shean disguised by the cut of distinctly muggle fashion. Or Vipers complete disregard for wizarding sensibilities, dressed in another band shirt and jeans, headphones still slung around his neck.

Truly, between his guardians' appearances Harry looks so mundane he's practically invisible. He probably didn't even need the enchantment covering his scar.

They enter the luggage shop, have no difficulties finding the trunk they want, although Harry makes them wait a few minutes while he browses anyways. They sell expanded pouches like the ones Zephirus makes, a miscellaneous selection of furniture and storage options, and then for some reason a whole bunch of glass-based enchantments.

Something he vaguely recognises as a remembrall, snowglobes in constant gentle downfall, hand-blown figurines that move and little drops of still-molten glass, floating near the ceiling.

They leave with the trunk and a delicate-looking ballerina with sparkling hair, gracefully dancing in Harry's palm.

And then it's time for clothing.


End file.
